Patterns in the Wind
by pinkswallowsun
Summary: Looking back on it now, the one thing you wish more than anything else in the world is that you felt something in the way of emotion when you uttered those words to Janet Mander on your patio.' Post Redhill; can Leo make things right again? Some H/N too.
1. Prologue: Leo

**Patterns in the Wind**

**Prologue: Leo I**

"_I'm sorry, Janet. But it's not enough. I just don't love you anymore."_

Looking back on it now, the one thing you wish more than anything else in the world is that you felt something in the way of emotion when you uttered those words to Janet Mander on your patio- no, no, her patio, it's her patio now. You don't wish you never said it, not in the slightest; you had to tell her sooner or later. She was beginning to suspect something, you knew that, she was beginning to suspect that there was more to your silences and avoidance of her of late than just the on-going issue of adoption. You couldn't keep her in the dark any longer, not realistically. It wasn't fair to go on like this, holding her at arms' length and offering her nothing by means of an explanation, not after all you'd been through together over the past three years, the good times.

The good times… they seemed a lifetime ago now, you realised with a sigh as you turned into her driveway, suddenly realising that you might just be coming back here for the last time. How did it work, this breakup lark? You hadn't done this before, not with a serious partner, the only one of those you'd had before Janet Mander had been Theresa.

What did you do? No, that was the wrong question. What were you supposed to do, what was the done thing in circumstances likes these? Were you supposed to collect up your belongings now, all you could fit into your car at least, pack it all up and be gone out of her hair immediately? Was she supposed to be the one to sort out the larger things that you wouldn't get into the boot of your car, send them on later? Or was it your job to come back for them, maybe whilst she was at work, pick up the last remaining traces of yourself from her house and take them away, wipe yourself out of her life and post your keys through the letterbox on the way out? You didn't know. You hadn't done it before, this serious break-up thing, hadn't been planning on doing it at all. Not until recently. Strange, the ways life can turn on you when you least expect it.

Looking back on it all now, in hindsight, you think she must have known all along what you were planning on doing that evening, long before you arrived home, entered through her front door, most likely before you'd even left the Lyell Centre. Maybe she guessed before you even decided to do it, you don't know. You wouldn't be surprised.

She's a psychologist, after all, she knows these things, it's her job to second guess the decisions of others, make a plan of action to corner them and straighten them out far in advance. Somehow she knew exactly what you had planned to do that evening, had already gotten her story straight and rehearsed it through to the point of perfection. Did she really believe her pre-meditated crap would be enough to change your mind? You're not too sure, but you hope not. You thought she was supposed to be good at her job.

If truth be told, you never really gave much thought to exactly _how_ you were going to end things with her. You just wanted it all over and done with at that moment in time and never mind the how, the whys and the wherefores. You didn't give a damn about that, just wanted to be a free man again, free to live your life as you pleased once more. The desire to be able to go out alone at any time of the day, any day of the week without having to rustle up some form of an excuse was almost overwhelming, the thought of being able to kiss the Jills and the Lizzies of this world in the cutting room free of that guilt inside you reminding you that you already had someone rather appealing, almost shockingly so, even to you in that god-awful frame of mind.

But even that momentary shock wasn't enough to cause you to hesitate, even to make you feel something in the way of emotion as you prepared to end an era of happiness in your life spanning more than three years now. It wasn't enough to make you pause and consider her reaction to all this, not once did you stop to think about that.

In hindsight, it's painfully obvious that as ever, you were only thinking about your damn self.

It hadn't even crossed your mind that she might break down like that when you told her. Perhaps it was because in all of those three perfect years you never saw Janet Mander cry, not properly, not hysterically like she did when you told her the truth at last. You'd seen the odd tears, yes, but she was always so calm, so controlled… never did you experience her break down so horribly until you uttered those words. But still it triggered nothing, no emotion, no reaction within you.

You simply watched her. You felt a little bad seeing her crying, knowing that you were the cause, knowing that you'd broken her heart, but somehow even that knowledge didn't cause a response. No. No, you simply stood there and watched her cry, motionless. Unsure as to what was supposed to happen next. Like you said, you hadn't ever done this before, not with a serious partner. You didn't know the rules.

So you counted her tears, the sudden, shallow movements of her chest as she sobbed, you yourself debating what to do. Still there was no emotion in your heart but your instinct was to try to comfort her, offer her some reassurance, to try to help like you'd do if you walked into the Lyell Centre to find a complete stranger in tears in the waiting area. But you couldn't do that, of course. You might not have known the ground rules, but you didn't need to; every part of you was screaming that it would be a bad, bad idea. Disastrous, even.

And so you just stood there. You just watched her struggle to fight on as her world shattered into a thousand pieces. You just watched.

After 20 long, long minutes, she composed herself enough to tell you shakily that you were going to have to go.

You didn't hang around. Half an hour later and you were out of her door, clothes stuffed into a suitcase, any other possessions in that 'sad little overnight bag' from the early days of your relationship. You didn't bother with the memories, nothing that brought her to mind. You left the photo albums, the watch she'd given you last Christmas that you'd taken to wearing every day, the bottle of aftershave you'd purchased while on holiday with her in France. You didn't want those, the memories, didn't want to take them with you, knowing you wouldn't be able to start afresh, new, free, single, the way you wanted if you did.

But you took one of her scarves with you, for reasons you couldn't for the life of you explain. You saw it draped over the back of the chair in the corner as you went to leave the bedroom, suddenly, unexplainably found yourself stopping to pick it up, turning it over in your hands, before stuffing it into your suitcase and hurrying down the stairs. 30 seconds later and you were out of the door, slammed it shut behind you. You didn't look back.

Where to go? What to do? Those questions began to formulate in your mind as you turned out of her road, drove away, leaving that period of your life far, far behind you. You had simply no idea what you were supposed to go now, where you were supposed to stay. A hotel, you decided, you should probably check into a hotel room for now, until you found somewhere to rent. Rent… that made it sound like this was a temporary thing, that you just needed somewhere to live to tie yourself over, a few weeks or so, maybe a month. It didn't sound serious somehow, like you were going to be going back to her soon, the only question was when.

You weren't, of course. It was over. You didn't love her anymore, just like you told her. It was all over.

The trouble was, you decided as you parked a little way up the road, pulled out your sat nav and mobile and tried to locate the nearest hotel with available rooms, she had just become too clingy over the past month or so. Yes, that was it, clingy. It wasn't your fault; it was hers, all her fault. You didn't love her anymore because she had made it impossible to love her. You were certain that was the problem. You hadn't seen it before, not yesterday, not the day before, not even earlier when you ended things with her, when you were leaving. But you saw it now. You saw it now clear as day, that it was her fault, all of it.

At some point over the past couple of months she had become impossibly, horribly clingy, making dinner like that out of the blue so it was impossible for you to escape for the evening without offending her, staying up waiting for you to come home so you couldn't possibly avoid her, kicking up a fuss just because you didn't text her to let her know where you were. So what? She's not your keeper. Never had been, never will be now. What business of hers was it, even then, to know every last detail of your life, where you went, what you did when you weren't with her? Was there some law that stated you had to tell her everything just because you were together? No, of course there wasn't. There was nothing of the sort.

No, it wasn't your fault, not any of it, you decided firmly as you pulled up at the closest hotel, pulled your suitcase from the back of your car, headed towards the entrance. It wasn't your fault in the slightest, you had done nothing wrong. It was her, all her. It that was how she was going to behave from now on, smothering, irritatingly over-the-top on the whole 'together' thing then you were better off without her. Screw her. Screw everyone, screw everything. It wasn't you fault, not any of it. Of course it wasn't.

Strange, the ways life can turn on you when you least expect it.

_**I'm gonna make a change, for once in my life,**_

_**And it's gonna feel real good, gonna make a difference,**_

_**Gonna make it right.**_

**Man in the Mirror, Michael Jackson**

**OK: so firstly, I'm really, really sorry for going completely AWOL the last 2 weeks or so. Blame the exam revision, it's stressful, and there aren't enough hours in the day :( That's also the reason I'm behind on reading- promise to catch up soon :) **

**Secondly, I know I already have far too many fics on the go at the moment. But this just had to be done after that horrible Redhill ending. It reduced me to tears, the first time and each time after that! Apparently there's something about Jaye Griffiths crying that I just can't cope with. Anyway, I'm convinced that there's much more going on in Leo's mind than just 'I just don't love you anymore', hence this fic. I couldn't leave it like that, I just couldn't :(**

**Thirdly, I'm hoping to reel this off quickly over the weekend, so updates should be regular. Once I'm done I'll finish off Conclusions in Cape Town and start the follow up. And the Obsession once my exams are over. And then I fell in love is a question mark, basically, how I continue it depends on whether the BBC air it next week or not- once I know and I have some free time I'll get going on that again :) Sorry. Too many things on the go, I know, but this was urgent. Really, desperately urgent. **

**Reviews would be lovely, and they'll cheer me up in revising, which means better quality revision, which means more writing time :) let me know what's going on in Leo's head, won't you? Was it really all Janet's fault? **

**Love Flossie xxx **


	2. Chapter 1: Janet

**Chapter 1: Janet**

_**So lately, been wondering who will be there to take my place,**_

_**When I'm gone you'll need love to light the shadows on your face.**_

You wake the following morning in a daze, a state of denial and pain and regret and rejection all blurred into one. Your eyes feel heavy, weighted, the way they tend to go after crying yourself to sleep; you know it's going to be a nightmare trying to cover it up, the physical toll of it all, making it into work looking vaguely presentable and pretending everything's fine. Maybe you should bunk off today, phone in sick? No, you tell yourself, shivering a little in the morning cold despite having the whole duvet to yourself. No, you can't do that, of course you can't. You haven't phoned in sick under false pretences in your whole working life, not once, and you're not about to start now. You've no intention of letting this get the better of you.

That, you realise as you force yourself out of bed, his side, catch sight of his watch still laid out neatly on his bedside table, the one you bought him last Christmas. Suddenly you're sobbing all over again, slightly hysterical as the grief of this morning builds upon the tears of last night, all becomes too much once more.

Is this what it's going to be like? Oh god, you realise, you're heart sinking, it is, there's no getting away from it. This is what it's going to like for the foreseeable future, until you're over him, that is. This is exactly what it's going to be like. After three years his presence is in every nook and cranny of this house; it's going to take more than packing up the remainder of his possessions into cardboard boxes and dumping them on his desk at the Lyell Centre when he's not in to banish him from here. Everywhere you look you'll be reminded of him, these first few weeks at least. He'll haunt you, taunt you, refuse to leave you, this is what it's going to be like until you get over him, find it in you to make peace and move on.

The only issue is that right now, that seems quite frankly impossible.

You'd suspected this was coming for a couple of weeks now. You'd far from prepared yourself for it, not even close to accepted it, but that didn't mean you hadn't begun to sense that there was something wrong. You can't quite place the exact moment in which things changed for him, and god knows you tried and tried and tried to pinpoint it last night. But you can't. It must have happened gradually, you suppose, a gradual shift from being in love to having no feelings for you at all that happened so slowly and subtly at first that you didn't even notice.

Although at some point over the past 12 hours or so, you've managed to convince yourself that there's more to it that simply falling out of love. 'Falling out of love' suggests he still cares about you, knows he still cares about you, just not like that anymore, merely as a friend, maybe a colleague he doesn't see an awful lot of but might feel sorry for in times of trouble.

But the more you analyse and overanalyse the events of yesterday evening, the more you manage to convince yourself that he couldn't give a damn, not really. He might want you to think he does, might want the world to see him as a good man, ending a three year long relationship on good terms, but deep down he doesn't care in the slightest, you've convinced yourself of it. He doesn't care. There was something about the way he just stood there and stared yesterday evening after delivering the news which was to tear your world apart, just stood there motionless, however long you did; you don't know exactly, just that it felt like a lifetime. You didn't think anything of it at the time; quite honestly you were far too busy battling to regain control of yourself, your tears, and your emotions, far too preoccupied to be worrying about the man responsible for them in the first place. Now, however, looking back you find it more than a little creepy. Why didn't he just go? You don't understand why he didn't just go. He doesn't love you anymore, doesn't want you, he made that perfectly clear.

So why didn't he just go? You don't understand his motives, his reasoning behind waiting until you told him to go before heading upstairs to pack his bags. Does he know just how much strength you had to muster to find the words to tell him to leave, how hard you had to fight to keep your voice even vaguely level, controlled enough for him to understand you, to get the message, at least? No, you suspect not. 12 hours ago you might just have thought he was struggling just as much with it all himself, couldn't quite let you go for some inexplicable reason. Maybe you might even have allowed yourself to believe that he was regretting his choice. But a night of trying and failing to cry yourself to sleep has left you exhausted and mentally drained, given you time to think it all through in your mind far too many times. You've convinced yourself he doesn't care at all, didn't stop to spare a single thought for how his eerie watching you cry might have been just a little disconcerting. No, of course he didn't. He doesn't give a damn, just wanted to get it over with, be a free man once more. Your feelings didn't even come into it.

And the worst part of it all? You've convinced yourself of all of the above, solidly, firmly, fixed it in your mind as the true version of events, his real motives, even though in reality you've no more of an idea why he did it than you had 12 hours ago. But if he turned around tomorrow and said he was sorry, would you take him back?

Of course you would. You love him too much. He's wrapped his way around your heart like a cobra, clings to you firmer than ever, the sudden withdrawal of his love suffocating you, stealing your oxygen, leaving you helpless and afraid. Even after this you still love him, can't help yourself; you'd take him back this instant if you could. There's no getting around it, no escaping it. You just love him too damn much.

That realisation only sets you off again.

This is stupid. Really, really stupid, you know it is. You have to pull yourself together, preferably sooner rather than later. There's no point getting so hysterical over it all. It's OK to cry, you know that, you've lost count of the number of times you've had to remind him of that over the last three years. You've preached it, believed it, thought you could save him with it. For a while you did. He's been happy, these past three years, happier than you remember him on that first date in the middle of the Russian contract killings case, back when you first met. You thought that was you, you thought that _you_ made him happy, saved him from the dark depths of despair which had overtaken him the day he lost his family. But somewhere along the line, you stopped making him happy.

Maybe you never really did.

Maybe it wasn't you that made him happy, not really, not in the beginning and most certainly not now. Maybe you simply brought him to peace with himself, offered salvation, showed him the path back to reality, to moving on with his life in the aftermath of the devastation. Maybe it wasn't really love for you he felt but a love for being able to live life to the full once more, carefree, so much so that he mistook those feelings of relief and gratefulness? Or maybe, a dark, taunting voice in the very back of your mind interrupts, maybe he knew all along what he was doing, realised you loved him and unless he pretended he loved you then you'd leave, take your hope and salvation along with you?

You know that's not true really, of course. At least, you did 12 hours ago. But those 12 long hours have twisted it all in your mind until you don't quite know what to think anymore, can barely even make out the once distinct lines between truth and complete and utter crap. You don't know what to think anymore, not about anything. He might have left you, but in doing so he's taken hold of you, held your soul, your rationality captive and stolen it away, leaving you hopeless, helpless.

Damn him. Damn everything. What's the point? You can't see how it matters anymore.

You haven't done this before, this serious break-up thing, hadn't been planning on doing it at all. Not until recently. The truth of the matter is, you've never really had a proper, serious relationship before, not like this. Not like you had with him. You spent your youth too busy studying, working, trying to make something of yourself to bother with a proper boyfriend, a serious one. Then when you approached your 30s and couldn't quite shake free that feeling that you were missing out on something, all the men in London seemed to be either taken or what Harry Cunningham would most likely describe as unsuitable, were they ever try to date Nikki. (Then again, you think he'd find anyone attempting to date Nikki 'unsuitable' in some shape or form.) Most of the ones you dated seriously were the latter. A few were the former. And then of course there was that disaster of an engagement that lasted just 4 short months. You've never quite forgiven yourself for not seeing right through that one.

You gave up for a while after that, just about admitted defeat, thought you were doomed to be alone forever. But then you found Leo. Then you found Leo and you truly thought that was it, thought you'd be together forever, as childish and idealistic and as living-in-a-fairy-tale as that might sound. You were happy. You'd thought he was, too.

Strange, the ways life can turn on you when you least expect it.

You don't want it to end like this. You don't want this happy period in your life to be forever tainted by today, but you can't see how to avoid that happening, not really. He doesn't love you anymore, told you as much, and the worst of it is you're convinced it's been a long time coming.

…Lizzie Frazer. That's when it started. Yes, you've got it now, Lizzie Frazer. That's when he first became distant, withdrawn, began to avoid you. He did it a little after the whole adoption thing a year ago, yes, but it can't be linked. It just can't be, that's what you tell yourself. He can't have been pretending for a whole year, he can't have. He just can't have.

But that's it, you remember now, that's when it all started. That's why it didn't spring to mind in the first place, because you wrote it off initially, thought he was just grieving. You wish he was, but he wasn't, you see that now. He most certainly wasn't grieving; he was falling out of love slowly but steadily, building up to this. You might not have picked up on it until a week or so ago but it was there, eating slowly but steadily away at your relationship and still you didn't see it. You're a psychologist, for god's sake, how did you not spot it? You're supposed to be good at your job. Half decent, anyway. Most of the time. You don't think you're going to be much good at it today.

You're worried about him. Christ, if that isn't stupid, you don't know what is. He doesn't love you anymore, for god's sake! He told you so during your last-chance-saloon yesterday evening, your final, desperate plea to him not to end it all, throw your happiness out to sea, lost forever more. Deep down, you'd known by then that it was hopeless, never going to work, but you had to try. You had to feel as if you'd done something.

But now you're worried about him. You're worried that he's going to go back to the way he was before now, before you met him, lost and alone and without a direction, a hope, a chance of peace. Stop it. No, really, just stop it. How damn right full of yourself is that? How do you know it was you who helped him, you who saved him in the first place? You don't, of course you don't, you'll never know. Not now.

The only thing you know now is that this would be a damn sight easier if only you could stop loving him, too.

But that, as you've already realised, is completely impossible.

_**If I could, then I would, I'll go wherever you will go,**_

_**Way up high or down low,**_

_**I'll go wherever you will go.**_

**Wherever you will go, Charlene Soraia, original version by The Calling**

**So I cried writing this one. No, really, proper full-on sobbing, it wasn't good. Hopefully that was just because I wrote it and I haven't made you cry too :( If you're not too traumatised, I'd love to know what you think, a couple of words will do :) And thank you SO much Dinabar, Amy, Lizzi, Laura, whitenessie and INcaMystica for your reviews, you all made me smile :) **

**I'm going to explain the ATIFIL situation while I'm here, feel free to skip this bit if you're not reading it! Basically I don't know what I'm going to do with it yet, it depends what the BBC do. They were talking about airing it this weekend but not anymore it seems, so perhaps next weekend? No one knows. My original plan was to upload the next, almost finished chapter which has H and N move in together, and then continue the story on after the ending when it aired, IF it aired this series, if you see what I mean. If not, I was going to continue writing the whole thing; I haven't got enough time to write it all before an airdate. Everything is further complicated by the fact that I've already seen it- it appeared on itunes about a week ago for a day, but now it's been taken down :/ I know some of you have seen it, but some of you haven't. If I did write the whole episode because the BBC didn't air it, how would you guys who haven't seen it feel about knowing I'd seen it? I'll obviously write completely my own version with no spoilers, but I have seen it, so my writing may be influenced by it. I don't know :S let me know what you think!**

**Thank you so, so much if you're still reading, seriously :) It means a lot. As do reviews :P**

**Love Flossie xxx**

**PS. I'm going to try and catch up with everyone's updates in the next few days :) Sorry. Blame exams :(**


	3. Chapter 2: Leo

**Chapter 2: Leo**

The first few days go by without you really thinking of her. You didn't imagine it quite like this, on your way home from work that afternoon when you fantasised of being free of her at last. You imagined that you'd notice her absence at first but you'd be glad of it, feel free, at peace, happy to be gone from her clutches. It never crossed your mind that you'd miss having her there, and you don't, not those first few days.

But you barely notice that she's gone, either.

For those first few days you live in the present, block out the past, refuse to even begin to contemplate the future. Everything you do is within this bubble of a few minutes in time which you've created for yourself, no thought of how you got here, where you'll be going next. And when those few minutes are up you simply transfer to another bubble, carry on in your stubborn refusal to think about the future, to recognise that you can't live on like this forever. All that matters is the here and the now; you can't bring yourself to plan ahead, you just can't. Your whole life up until now you've been so organised, planned everything in advance down to the very last detail, but all of a sudden that ability seems to be gone from you. You can't explain it, can't understand why. It's just gone.

You live in a hotel room those first few days, not noticing at the time that the card you use to pay for your room is that belonging to your joint account. You come into work each morning looking dishevelled, thanks to your lack of both the ability to fold your clothes properly in the bottom of your suitcase and an iron in your new home of a Premier Inn room. The first morning post the break up Harry looks at you oddly, then makes some bad joke you don't even bother committing to memory. The second morning Nikki pulls you to one side and quietly, sensitively, asks you if everything's OK. You assure her it is, shrug her off; you can't be bothered to talk her through it all, not yet, not even to give her the selected highlights or the general conclusion of it all. You just can't be doing with it, not yet. Possibly not ever.

On the third morning, you've barely had time to drape your coat over the back of your chair upon entering your office before Harry and Nikki are in through the door. How's Janet? Nikki wants to know. You should tell her, you know it then, you should tell her the truth. You should tell them both that it's over between you; at the very least it might get them off your back.

But somehow you can't. You mean to, you really do. You open your mouth with the full intention of informing Harry and Nikki that you and Janet are no longer together, as of three days ago, but those are not the words which come tumbling out. And for the life of you, you wouldn't be able to explain why.

"She's fine," you find yourself telling them, your voice shaking, hands fidgeting awkwardly, looking down a little guiltily at the floor as you can't quite bring yourself to meet their gaze. "She's fine, why wouldn't she be?"

But they know why not, you realise that as Harry's expression twists to one of confusion, then of discontent, as Nikki's eyebrows rise just a little.

"Really?" she says sceptically, her voice suddenly turning even more clear-cut and precise than normal, the way it always seems to when she's in a mood. "She tells me you're not together anymore."

Stupid, tale-telling bitch, that's the thought which echoes angrily through your mind when Nikki first utters those words. Stupid, tale-telling bitch; what did she have to go crying to Harry and Nikki for? She thought they'd be able to knock some sense into you, make you see the light and persuade you to take her back, is that it? Idiotic woman. Did she really imagine even for a second that hair-brained plan would work? What does she take you for? You don't love her anymore; didn't you make that clear enough? You tried to break it to her as gently as you possibly could but no you're beginning to lose your patience with her. You don't want her anymore, you told her so. Why can't she bloody get over it and leave you the hell alone?

"No, we're not," you remember telling Nikki coldly, slamming your diary down on your desk with a thud. "Not that it's any of your business. Does it matter?"

You expect her to fight back. She's done it before after all, over the Helen Karimedes case, once before several years ago now, back when you were an emotional mess just after Theresa and Cassie… well, that. She'd done it before; you had no doubt that she'd do it again.

But she didn't. Instead she just looked at you, almost pityingly, eyes wide and sympathetic.

"I'm sorry," you remember her saying gently, her hand reaching out across your desk to rest on yours but you pulled it away before she could; you didn't want her comfort in that moment for reasons you couldn't explain, not even to yourself. "What happened? Janet was a bit vague, didn't want to talk about it…"

"Me neither." It was the coward's way out, you saw it at the time and you can still see it now, but still you took it, still you copped out, couldn't tell her the truth. Why? Not because you didn't want to, not completely at least. Truth be told, it had rather a lot to do with the fact that now, three days post the breakup, three days post leaving her a sobbing wreck on the patio as you walked out of her door, out of her life forever, you weren't exactly sure. Why had you broken up with her?

Because she was too clingy, you reminded yourself later, much later, after Harry and Nikki had gone and left you alone at last. Because she was too clingy, that was it. Not too needy as such, not at all, needy was completely the wrong word. But clingy, yes, that was it; that was the only way to describe it. You'd said this before, thought it at least, the evening you left, three days ago in real, physical time but what now feels like a lifetime ago. You were right then and you're right now: why should you have to tell her where you are every minute of the day? Why should you feel obliged to stay at home and have dinner with her when all you want is to be away from her, just for a while? Theresa was never like this, you reminded yourself; Theresa never had this need to nag and nag at you for details of your whereabouts every second of the damn day. Theresa never tied you down like she did, never failed to give you as much time to yourself as you liked, never looked at you with those wide, sad eyes when you told her you were going out, unannounced, without her. It was never like this with Theresa.

Theresa. Theresa, Theresa, Theresa, Theresa, Theresa…

Then you remember that you and Theresa didn't even live together for the vast majority of your relationship, your marriage. She was in Sheffield, you were in London, you saw it other on the weekends only and now… now, at this stage of your marriage you don't even have that. Because… because you are still married, aren't you, the pair of you? Aren't you? Of course you are, she hasn't left you, not really, she's still with you, you're still tied together forever? You'll never be apart, the pair of you, of course not; you're soul mates…

Were. Were soul mates, not are. She's gone; both of them are, gone forever from you…

Who? Who is this 'both of them'?

Initially you were thinking of Theresa and Cassie, your family, the people you love most in all the world now gone from you forever. But now, now when you stop and think about it properly, you realize that perhaps subconsciously, deep down, lost in a dark, hidden area of your mind, those weren't the two people you were thinking of at all. Well, half at least, but not completely, perhaps you weren't thinking of your daughter after all. It's not that she isn't someone you love, still love unconditionally even now she's gone forever, been gone from you now for seven long years. Of course not.

But perhaps when those simple 3 words entered your mind, that 'both of them', perhaps you were thinking more of lovers than people you loved in general? You don't know. Lovers… Theresa was your first love, your first real, true love at least. And… and then there was her. You lost Theresa getting on for a decade ago now, spent those first four years alone without her love stuck in some kind of deep black hole, going through the motions of life, half-way healed but in many ways still hurting, not the faintest idea how to cope with the rawest of the pain.

But then… but then _she_ came into your life. Just when you needed her most she came into your life, saved you, a shining beacon of hope in the depths of despair. She taught you to grieve, to feel, taught you that it was OK to dissolve into an emotional mess for them every now and then. You knew you could tell her anything, and you did or course, told her of your family long gone, the life you should have had but didn't.

That was OK… wasn't it? To tell her those long-winded stories of those who came before her? She said you could, never complained when you did. But now you think about it, now, in hindsight, sat alone at your desk and thinking back on it all, three days post breakup, three days post the end of it all, end of everything, now you recall sadness in her eyes when you told those tales, a sadness that only deepened as your stories continued well into the night. You'd thought at the time that she was sharing your sadness, your pain, empathising with you but now… now you don't know. Now you're beginning to see it all in a rather different light and you don't like it, don't like the strange, indescribable feeling flooding into your heart in a rush, threatening to consume you.

And so you do the only thing possible. A defence mechanism, that's what she'd call it, a defence mechanism. You push all thoughts of it to the back of your mind, shake yourself free, open the nearest case file you can find and lose yourself in it as fast as physically possible. You don't want to think about it. You won't think about it. You're not doing there, no way in hell.

That evening when you arrive back at your premier inn room, tired, disheartened after a long day of struggling to make sense of a stupid damn tox report that just doesn't add up, not to you, not to Harry, not to Nikki, no one, you miss her cooking. Not her, her cooking, you miss arriving home to a house full of the aromas of proper, home-cooked food, never mind the cheap, tasteless stuff from the diner downstairs you've been living off of late.

You miss her cooking but still don't miss her, not consciously; if that isn't a sign of the fact you took her for granted, even when things were still well and good between you, then you really don't know what is.

Maybe you never really loved her at all? It's an awful, awful thought, but it does cross your mind as you heave yourself out of the armchair in the corner with a sigh, back down to your car and off to Tescos in search of dinner. Maybe it wasn't love you felt for her, not really, not love like that which you had for Theresa. Have; have for Theresa, not had.

Maybe it was more a need, maybe even a selfish desire, to have someone to feed you, tidy up after you, need you… Maybe you simply needed to feel needed? Maybe you'd grown so used to Cassie needing you as a father over the years that the mere feeling of being needed had become a necessity to you, maybe you allowed her into your life because you wanted her to need you, depend on you, not so much because you loved her? Oh god.

It's a horrible, horrible thought, but you can't quite escape from it, not for the remainder of that evening. Still you don't miss _her_; not really, feel perfectly happy alone, getting on with your life without her. The things you miss are still merely the bonuses which came along with her, proper food, non-creased clothes, self-centred things, signs that you took advantage of her, hugely, at least towards the end. Maybe you were taking advantage of her all along.

At least, that's what you think when you go to sleep that night.

The following morning, you awake groggily, half-asleep, not quite with it. You forget, at least at first, emerge from your slumber with these past few days far from the forefront of your mind. Ignorance, after all, is bliss.

The first sign of something being different from how you had expected it to be, stuck in your dream-like, past reality, is the surprise discovery that for once her hair hasn't spread itself out across your pillow as she's tossed and turned in her sleep.

The second is that when you reach out for her, slide your hands across the mattress to pull her in close, there's nothing there. She's not there. All that you find is cold, bare sheets, and then you reach the edge of the bed and your hand slides off, falls down the sheer cliff face that is the end of the mattress. You frown for a moment. She's not there.

And then you remember.

She's not here with you because you're not at home, haven't got a home to speak of anymore. She's alone in the bed which once belonged to the both of you. Because you had to leave, now you remember.

You told her you didn't love her anymore.

It's only then that finally, after four days, it begins to sink in. The reality of what you've done.

_**I'm gonna make a change, for once in my life,**_

_**And it's gonna feel real good, gonna make a difference,**_

_**Gonna make it right.**_

**I'm still here! Sorry, I know it's been a horribly long time, blame the exams :( I'm still not done yet but I'm almost there, and I was getting writing withdrawal symptoms :P No, really! **

**You would have had this about a week ago but it took me a while to get it to the point where I was happy with it, whether that's because I haven't written anything in so long or because Leo's head seems to have been left hugely messed up by the end of this series, I don't know. I think I got it about right in the end, though whether you can see what I was trying to get at through the rambling I don't know! I hope so, let me know! **

**Thank you so much everyone who reviewed the last chapter (several weeks ago, I'm sorry! ) Amy, Dinabar, Emmy, Abbie, Izzy, Meg, Laura and Lizzi, thank you so much, I'm so sorry about the long wait. I will try and do better now the exams are almost over! **

**If anyone's still reading/speaking to me, reviews would be amazing as ever :)**

**Love Flossie xxx**


	4. Chapter 3: Leo

**Chapter 3: Leo**

The realisation which comes over you that fourth morning in the hotel room is perhaps not the one many might have expected. Perhaps some might assume that you experienced some kind of epiphany when you awoke that morning, realized how stupid you'd been to let Janet Mander go, that you were still hopelessly in love with her, couldn't possibly live a moment longer without her. But that's just not the way reality operates.

This isn't a fairy tale, not a Jane Austen novel, not even a modern romance. Real life doesn't always have the perfect happy endings of the fictional world, rarely does in fact; you know that better than most. True love in this life does not run the pattern of fantasy, doesn't exist in the fairy tale sense in which the prince always gets his princess and everyone involved on the side of the good powers and not the evil lives happily ever after.

That's all rubbish, rubbish you read from the pages of a fairy story to your daughter long ago, rubbish in those Austen novels of Janet's you were always finding littered around the house- her house, her house now. It must be a girl thing, you suppose, you know Nikki obsesses over them too. Impossible fantasies the women of this world appear to cling to, particularly in times of trouble, perhaps as an escape from the unfairness and the trials and the torments of reality? You don't know. You doubt it works, though. Maybe for a short while, but not for long once the pages of the books are closed once more, once reality reigns supreme. Reality is impossible to escape from for more than a few hours at a time, no matter what methods you use, and by god you've tried.

No. No, this isn't a fairy story, far from it, in fact. Maybe there won't be a happy ending to this sorry tale; most likely, you consider, because you're not entirely what it would take to make you happy, give you that fairy tale ending. God only knows. Maybe you're just bloody picky, maybe that's the problem, maybe nothing's good enough for you. But that can't be right, you realise, because you used to be happy. You were happy before, with your family, with Theresa and Cassie… and you were happy again, you have to remind yourself, you were happy with Janet Mander until recently. But not at the end. In the last few days of your relationship you were bloody sick of her, wanted rid of her, and that of course was exactly what you did. You got rid of her, broke free, hence your waking up without her on day 4 in your Premier Inn room. You broke free, became independent once more.

No, the realisation which comes over you that fourth morning in your uncomfortable Premier Inn bed is not one of undying love for Janet Mander, it's not bitter regret at ending your relationship, pushing her away. What does hit you, however, is just how awful you were to her that evening you ended things with her, how little respect you treated her with in the month or so leading up to the moment you broke her heart in two.

Let's start with the evening of the break up itself; that, after all, that you view to be your greatest offence. As you lay there, shivering a little under the thin hotel-line duvet, the events of that evening seem to haunt you, won't leave you alone no matter how hard you fight to push them away, banish them from your mind. That last conversation with her out on the patio, the one in which you told her… you told her you… That one, anyway. She already knew what you were going to do, you're certain of it in hindsight, but she was desperate not to lose you, desperate to make you change your mind despite knowing it was already made up, dead-set, no going back. You might have stopped loving her but she most certainly was still in love with you; nothing had changed as far as she was concerned.

Would it have if she knew about Lizzie, about Jill? Possibly. Maybe you should have told her about them that evening when you broke it to her, 'dumped' her, you suppose, that seems to be the way of phrasing it nowadays. Her tearful breakdown when you told her, that was because she still loved you, she didn't want it to be over; you know that, you're not stupid. Maybe you should have told her that you'd cheated on her, more than once, twice in fact. Maybe you should have elaborated the truth a little, been economical with it, suggested to her that things between you and Lizzie, you and Jill; maybe it would have been so much easier for her to just let you go if she'd been angry with you.

Then again, maybe not.

You try to forget about it all after that. You can't think about it, the way you ended things with her hurt her so horribly, because every time it crosses your mind even for a second you're overcome by a sickening sensation inside. It's just the guilt at having been so awful to her in the end, that's what you tell yourself. It's nothing more; easy to get yourself carried away and confuse it with something more, but it's not, of course it's not. You don't love her anymore, just like you told her. It's perfectly possible to regret how you treated her without still being in love with her… isn't it?

_**I'm gonna make a change, for once in my life,**_

_**And it's gonna feel real good, gonna make a difference,**_

_**Gonna make it right.**_

Never again will you treat someone you love or once loved like this, you vow to yourself back in your Premier Inn room that evening. It was awful, the way you treated Janet Mander in the end, quite frankly unacceptable. However you felt about her by the end you had no right to torture her like that, blurt it out so bluntly. You had no right to just stand there bloody motionless and watch her as she fell apart along with life as she knew it, no right at all. How could you do that to her? When did you become this cruel, this heartless? You don't know.

What you do know, however, is that from this day on you're going to make a change. Never again will you treat someone like that, someone you love, someone you loved once, anyone, not anyone. It's not worth the guilt you feel now, not worth feeling like this, not a single bit. You might not love Janet Mander anymore, but you want to look back on the years you spent with her as a happy period of your life, want to have fond memories to treasure of those times. You don't want the happiness to be tarnished forever by the pain and the guilt you feel at having caused her so much pain at the end, but you're starting to realise slowly but surely that it may be your reality. You'll have to live with the guilt of breaking her heart so harshly and cruelly, out of the blue, for the rest of your life, like it or not. Will she ever forgive you? You don't know. Does it matter? You're not sure you'd really feel much better even if she did.

No, but you've learnt your lesson now, that's what you tell yourself in a desperate search for self-reassurance. You'll find someone else, of course you will; you won't be all alone and unloved forever. Of course you will, you'll find someone else, someone else you'll love forever and not just for a few short years, and when you do you'll treat them right. You took Janet Mander for granted towards the end; you know you did, even if it's only just beginning to hit you. You cheated on her, you avoided her, you treated her more as a housekeeper towards the end than a lover, a companion. Never again. You've learnt from that mistake, vowed to make a change, get your act together. It's too late to make it up to Janet Mander, you know that, but it's not too late to change your behaviour.

Have you always been like this, always treated the women in your life with so little care once you've become bored of them? God, you hope not. No, you try to reassure yourself, of course not. You and Theresa were happily married for years without any problems like this; you can't have been. Theresa would have gotten fed up with you long, long ago had you been like this during those wonderfully happy, care-free years of your life with her and Cassie, you're sure of it, almost certain. She wouldn't have stood for you avoiding her, rejecting her, wanting to be alone when she quite clearly wanted to spend time with you, dismissing her thoughts, her ideas, denying her the one thing she wanted most in all the world and then dragging the issue up again and again only to break her heart for the hundredth time.

No, Theresa wouldn't have stood for it. This is where she and Janet Mander differ, you suppose; Janet had a heart too open, a heart too willing to love no matter how god-damn awful the person she loved went on to treat her. Theresa loved, of course she did, but she wouldn't have stood to be pushed around by you, mistreated a little, even a lot, not like Janet Mander did. She wouldn't have let you become some kind of womanising, uncaring monster, she would have put her foot down, put a sharp, firm end to your mistreating of her.

So does that make it Janet Mander's fault? Did she cause this awful breakup because she loved too much, cared too much about those around her and not enough for herself? Did she let you take advantage of her, transform into something, someone, whom you're not sure you recognise anymore when you look in the mirror, is that what happened? Are you saying you blame her?

That realisation shocks you considerably once it finally sinks in. No! No, of course not, how could you even have thought that for a moment? How could you possibly even contemplate blaming her for this, acting like it was her fault you treated her so badly towards the end? That's quite possibly the very worst of your sins, you decide, trying to blame Janet Mander for this mess of emotions and strange overly-complex feelings that you're going through. You caused this, there's no getting around it. You should have let her down gently, spared her feelings, tried to ensure that your once-happy three-year-long relationship didn't end in unnecessary, unavoidable tears and trauma. Then again, like that was ever going to happen.

You've just got to move on now, that's what you try to tell yourself. You've got to try to forget all about this sorry saga and move on, quit dwelling on it before it destroys you. You wish with all your heart you could turn back the clock and handle things differently but you can't, that's impossible. You've got to move on with your life instead, change your behaviour for the better just as you promised yourself you would; it's the only way to ensure you'll find someone else, be happy again. You're going to do it. You'll succeed. You have to.

A few days later you phone your friend Sean, a week or so after that and you're off to Essex for the week, a holiday of sorts, you suppose. You think getting out of London will be good for you, give you some breathing space, away from Harry and Nikki's worried gazes, from the memories that even seem to haunt the Lyell Centre. Your office reminds you of her first visit, of when you invited her to stay for coffee after the Fran Price post mortem. The end of Harry and Nikki's office with the microscopes reminds you of the time she came to see you, angry, irate, after your spontaneous trip to Sheffield when you hadn't even bothered to tell her properly besides a text message; yet another time you mistreated her over the past three years. And then the sofa in the corner of your office reminds you of the time when… No. No, that's a secret, not for the rest of the world to know about. Especially not Harry or Nikki. Or Zak.

You miss her. You think you've known that deep down all along, though this realisation only comes to you on the long drive down to Essex. You may not love her anymore but still you miss her, want her in your life. Maybe it's a midlife crisis, you consider. That must be it, a mid-life crisis, nothing more. That's why you've been listening to all that 'funeral music' as Harry calls it, because you're suffering from some kind of messed up, backward midlife crisis. Instead of regressing to your youth in fear of growing old and being alone you seem to be embracing it, trying to grow old before your time. You're still quite young really… aren't you?

_**A summer's disregard, a broken bottle top, **_

_**And one man's soul, they follow each other on the wind you know, **_

_**Because they've got nowhere to go, that's why I want you to know.**_

You flick the radio in your car to one of the 'popular' chart music stations in a slightly desperate bid to prove your point to yourself, fully prepared to embrace the loud, rebellious electronic noise you remember from your youth. But you last a minute at the most before you find yourself tuning it back. It doesn't sound the way you remember it, it's lost its appeal, now sounds loud and harsh and out-of-control to your aged ears. Maybe you are getting old after all.

In all honesty, you feel rather lost, you realise as you pull onto Sean's driveway. You feel lost, like you're drifting from here to there like a broken bottle top on the lonely winter wind, no purpose, no logic… not since you left her. You won't admit it, not even to yourself, but you're more than a little lost without her. You need someone to take your hand and offer you some reassurance as you struggle to pull yourself together, make a new life for yourself without her. Which is pathetic really, given that you were the one who ended things so horribly in the first place; you have no right to feel like this. It's Janet Mander who should be falling to pieces, a little lost without you, not the other way around.

So why do you feel so alone?

It's Sean who finally makes you confront the final secret you've been keeping even from yourself in terms of your feelings, forces you to accept one final realisation which only succeeds in ripping you apart further. He does it without realising, doesn't mean to tear your world apart for good, but still he manages to do so in just a few simple words.

"A pity. I always liked Janet," Sean comments as the two of you cross his kitchen shortly after your arrival and while on the subject of your hunt for a new girlfriend.

You shake your head knowingly in response, roll your eyes. "No you didn't," you tell him, lightly yet a little tellingly, pointedly. You know he never liked her; he told you so enough times. He told you he couldn't for the life of him understand what you were doing with the woman on one particularly drunken night out in London; it wasn't exactly a secret. But you didn't care, you were happy with Janet Mander. You were then, at least.

"No, I didn't," Sean agrees, and with that said and done the subject matter is changed swiftly, a little too swiftly for comfort. But by then it's too late, of course. Your mind has already been sent into motion.

How could he not have liked Janet Mander? What was there not to like about her? You don't understand, you just don't understand. She was kind, she was affectionate, she always knew how to make you feel better no matter how atrocious a day you'd had. She loved you, cared for you, took away the pain of losing your first family and gave you something more, something which made you happy in ways you can't quite put into words. She made you feel alive again, gave you something to live for, to love for, made your life complete once more. It was worth coming home from work at the end of the day, just for her, to hold her and cherish her and be with her, make her laugh, make her smile… You loved her.

You… you still love her. That's the final realisation which comes over you at Sean's that evening, the one you've been fighting all along. You still love her, just as much as you did before, never stopped, not really. You might have thought you did, but you haven't not in the slightest. And now you've thrown the only good thing in your life away, lost Janet Mander forever; she's gone.

Gone from you for all of eternity.

**I'm really, really sorry, I know it's been ages, and I know I said now my exams were over I was going to get better at updating. I had a pretty horrible week last week and the beginning of this week wasn't an awful lot better, so I wasn't really in the mood for writing :( I've done a lot more over the past few days but a lot of it was done in the car travelling around visiting universities, so I did it all in my notebook and need to type it up so I can publish it- I'll try to crack on with that tomorrow :) Sorry again, I promise to be better next week and over the summer :) **

**Reviews would be amazing as ever, you guys always cheer me up, hint hint :P And thank you so much to Amy, Izzy, Dinabar, Emma, Lizzi and Laura for reviewing the last chapter, virtual hugs coming your way :)**

**Love Flossie xxx**


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